Beauty and the Beholder
by Kristen Elizabeth
Summary: Sara, he's just trying to get you to see what we see when we look at you. Hotness. GSR
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Characters contained within do not belong to me. 

Author's Notes: Sometimes a story idea hits you so hard that you have to start writing and sharing, even if you're in the middle of another project. That in no way means that the other project is abandoned or even put on hold. It just means the writer is a multi-tasker;)

This story came about after an evening marathon of the first season of "America's Next Top Model" on VH1. If you need to blame someone for it, blame Tyra.

* * *

Beauty and the Beholder

by Kristen Elizabeth

* * *

_You're gonna find, yes, you will _

_That you're as beautiful as you feel_

_- Carole King_

* * *

"That's great, Sara. Amazing. Now just turn a little bit to your left…exactly. Hold that."

If you had told twenty-two year-old Sara Sidle that becoming a CSI would eventually result in having her picture taken for a prominent magazine, she would have balked at the very idea, and probably gone on a twenty-minute rant about inequality between the sexes in the work place and the unnecessary sexualization of career women in order to keep them as objects rather than co-workers.

But that would have been before years of being seen as "one of the guys" took a toll on her self-perception to the point where she couldn't remember the last time she'd felt truly beautiful.

"One more, Sara. Look beyond me…like you just had a breakthrough on a big case."

Beyond the photographer, beyond the lights, there was a sea of familiar faces, all gathered to witness what most of them never thought possible. But there was one face in particular that stood out.

And he was not happy. At all.

* * *

It all started a week earlier.

For Sara, it hadn't been a very good day to begin with, and she'd only been awake for an hour, thanks to a temporary power outage in her building that had prevented her alarm clock from going off. Fortunately her inner clock was so conditioned that she was able to make it into work with only minutes to spare. But there had been no time for any sort of grooming.

So she arrived at the lab in black pants and a black turtleneck, sans makeup and with her hair limp around her shoulders. She told herself that it didn't matter what she looked like; her job was hardly appearance-based. After grabbing a much-needed cup of coffee, she slipped into her usual seat around the break room table, between Nick and Warrick.

"Let me guess," Nick said. "Alarm clock didn't go off?" Sara shot him a look. "Hey, it's all good," he went on. "I admire a woman who'd rather be on time than have on makeup."

She knew him well enough to know that he truly meant it as a compliment. But that didn't stop his words from stinging.

And it certainly didn't help matters when Catherine strolled in a moment later, looking like she was vying to be America's next top model. How did she afford clothes like that, anyways? Sara had a pretty good idea of what she took home every month, and it probably wasn't enough to budget in designer labels.

She sat at the head of the table with a toss of her perfectly layered blonde locks. Her glossed lips were turned up in a coquettish smirk.

"You look like you just ate a canary, Cat," Warrick noted.

"Not quite." Catherine leaned forward. "I had dinner with Sam and my mother last night."

"Well, certainly can't account for your good mood," Nick said.

"You're right. But this can. Sam has a friend in the magazine industry."

Sara spoke up. "Doesn't he have friends in every industry?"

"True," Catherine conceded. "But this particular friend has connections at _Glamour_ magazine. As it turns out, she's getting ready to put out a major article on real-life criminalists."

"About damn time someone did." Warrick snorted softly. "I can't turn on the TV anymore without seeing some actor picking up evidence with his bare hands."

"Or collecting without photographing," Nick added.

Greg tacked on, "Or only taking one photo."

Catherine ignored them and focused on Sara. "Guess which real-life criminalists are going to be photographed for the article?"

"Congrats," Sara said, wryly. "I'm sure you'll do us all pro…wait." She frowned. "Criminalists? Plural?"

"Mm-hmm. See, they really want two models. Women, since the article focuses on females in forensics." The older woman turned up her smile a notch. "I volunteered you."

Sara's jaw dropped. All eyes were on her, waiting for her reaction. After the initial shock had passed, she blinked and reached for her coffee. "Then you can just un-volunteer me. I am no model."

"I knew you were going to shoot this down without even considering it," Catherine sighed. "Listen, if it helps, you weren't my first choice. But Sofia had to go and join the force, and they really want women currently working in the field." She looked at the boys. "As I'm sure you're aware, there's a severe lack of ladies in the lab."

"Lack of ladies in the lab," Greg repeated. "Try saying that five times fast."

Sara hoped her eye wasn't visibly twitching. She was well aware that she didn't have what it took to stop traffic. She didn't even have what it took to distract a certain man from his bugs. And she certainly didn't need Catherine throwing that in her face. "My heart goes out to you," she snapped. "But I'm not interested."

Catherine folded her arms over her chest. "How can you not be interested? We'll get to keep the clothes." She gave Sara's outfit a once-over. "Trust me, that's a good thing."

Her cheeks burned; why couldn't this attack have taken place on a day when she'd at least gotten to wash her hair? "I'm not sure how much clearer I can make this. I am not about to let myself be humiliated on a national scale. If you're okay with having your intelligence undermined in favor of your physical appearance, that's your prerogative. But I…"

Nick cut her off. "Sara, c'mon. At least consider it."

"What?" She rounded on him. "Are you seriously advocating that I do this?"

"I am," Greg spoke up. "I'll buy ten copies when it comes out."

"Forget it," Sara reiterated. "It's not going to happen."

Catherine's eyes narrowed. "Why? Give me five good, legitimate reasons, and I'll drop the subject and never bring it up again."

Holding up her hand, Sara started counting down with each finger. "One, I loathe the idea of being exploited."

"It's a professionally written article about the positive impact of women in forensic science," Catherine interrupted. "We'll be wearing business suits, expensive business suits, but nothing even remotely exploitative. Next."

"Two, as you were so quick to point out, and no one seemed able to dispute, I am not model material."

Warrick shot her a cool frown. "Girl, I'd pick you in a Best Legs contest any day of the week."

Sara's hard expression softened a bit. "Long legs do not a model make." She waved her hand over her face. "It's all about this."

"What's your third lame excuse?" Catherine asked, brusquely. When Sara didn't immediately reply, she pointed a triumphant finger at her. "Ah-ha! See? You couldn't even make it to three."

"Give me a minute and I…"

Nick gently cut her off. "Sara, think about it this way. No one will expect you to do something like this." He winked at her. "You might just set this place on its ear."

"I can't believe that you want me to embarrass myself like this." Sara shook her head. "So much for friendship."

"That's not what he's doing, Sara. He's just trying to get you to see what we see when we look at you." Greg shrugged. "Hotness."

The compliment helped, however misguided by leftover hormones it might have been, but she wasn't quite ready to concede just yet. Sara looked up at the overhead lights until the glare was too much and she had to close her eyes. "I am so going to regret this," she muttered.

"Regret what?" Grissom's sudden appearance forced her eyes open. He had wandered into the room sometime in the midst of her internal debate, and stopped across the table from her, waiting for an answer.

Catherine stepped in when Sara couldn't find the words. "I'm trying to convince Sara to do a photo shoot with me for _Glamour _magazine."

Grissom frowned. "Why?"

"Because we're smart, sexy scientists," Catherine shot back. "And women, in case you'd forgotten."

"I hadn't forgotten." He went to the coffee pot and poured himself a cup. "I just don't consider it relevant."

It was right then that Sara made her mind to not only do this, but to enjoy it. Her femininity was so transparent that it didn't even register on Grissom's radar. There probably wasn't anything she could do about that. But what she could do was make sure it didn't disappear completely. And if she had to display whatever goods she had between the glossy pages of a magazine in order to do that, it would be well worth the risk of embarrassment.

She turned to Catherine. "When and where?"

"You're in?"

Sara's smile was hard. "Oh…I'm in."

* * *

To Be Continued 


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Characters contained within do not belong to me. 

Author's Notes: Once again, everyone's amazing and encouraging comments have touched me, and put me in the mood to write! Thank you to every single one of you. I hope you enjoy this chapter just as much as the first!

* * *

Beauty and the Beholder

by Kristen Elizabeth

* * *

_An expert is the person who has made all the mistakes that can be made in a very narrow field." - Neils Bohr_

* * *

"That's great, Sara. Amazing. Now just turn a little bit to your left…exactly. Hold that."

If you had told Gil Grissom a year ago that he'd eventually be spending a rare day off in the lab watching two of his co-workers be photographed for a magazine spread…he probably would have forgotten two minutes later. But for those two minutes, he would have been slightly irritated, and possibly would have mumbled something derogatory under his breath about the media.

But that would have been before he saw Sara emerge from the breakroom/temporary dressing room, looking every inch the supermodel.

"One more, Sara. Look beyond me…as though you just had a breakthrough on a case."

Somehow, despite the lights that must have been nearly blinding her, he felt her stare land on him. He wanted to look away, but something made it impossible. She was incredibly beautiful.

And now even more out of his reach.

* * *

It all started a week earlier.

He really needed to learn that when he came into a room in the middle of an intense conversation, he shouldn't try to catch up. He should just get his coffee and wait for his team's attention before handing out assignments. And he especially shouldn't be overcome with curiosity when he entered and heard Sara mutter, "I am so going to regret this."

"Regret what?"

It bothered him that he ended up hearing the big news from Catherine, who was just a little too gleeful for his liking. "I'm trying to convince Sara to do a photo shoot with me for _Glamour _magazine."

His natural reaction to news of a puzzling nature was to frown. "Why?"

"Because we're smart, sexy scientists," Catherine snapped. "And women, in case you'd forgotten."

"I hadn't forgotten." Forget? He wished. Every time Sara leaned over the layout table, his body gave him an embarrassing reminder that she was entirely female. But if she knew that he had such adolescent reactions, she would have been furious. The one thing he knew about Sara was that she'd worked hard to get where she was, and she wouldn't stand for being anyone's sex object. He went for his coffee and continued, "I just don't consider it relevant."

When he turned back around, coffee in hand, he was hit with a variety of looks ranging from exasperation to anger to quiet resignation. That last one was the hardest to explain. Why did Sara look like he'd just wounded her? Hadn't he been the only one in the room acknowledging that her ample beauty wasn't as important as her astounding intellect?

"When and where?" she asked Catherine suddenly.

Catherine blinked. "You're in?"

It was rare to see Sara smile anymore. But this smile was skewered somehow, and not entirely pleasant. "Oh…I'm in."

"Saturday morning here at the lab. I've already cleared it with Ecklie."

Grissom cleared his throat. "Now that that's settled, assignments."

In retrospect, he wished he would have assigned Sara to work with him, but he'd already divided up the cases and put her with Greg. He should have done some quick switching, but he ended working a 419 with Catherine who only had one topic on her mind the entire way to the scene.

She'd been talking for ten minutes before she asked him to join her one-sided conversation. "Gil, what do you think?"

"About what?"

Her sigh was not unfamiliar; he often found himself on the receiving end of it. "With a lot of makeup and some clothes with actual colors, Sara might actually pull this off, yes or no?"

Grissom had no idea how to answer that.

Finally, Catherine gave up. "Why am I asking you? You wouldn't notice Sara if she dyed her hair pink and pierced every orifice on her body."

He wasn't sure whether to strangle or thank her for putting those images into his head.

"I think I'd notice if anyone dyed their hair pink," he defended himself.

"You didn't notice when I went red."

"You exaggerate. You were strawberry blonde."

Catherine smirked. "That's right…you have a thing for blondes."

Grissom decided to let the inaccurate comment pass. If he bothered to start correcting every rumor about him that floated around the lab, he'd waste far too much of his time. "Sara's thin enough to be a model," he said a moment later. "Especially lately."

"She's getting downright Twiggy if you ask me," Catherine said, leaning back in the passenger seat. "I wish she'd find another boyfriend. When she was with Hank, she at least ate out a lot."

Another comment that he chose to ignore.

But Catherine never knew when to let a subject go. "Maybe this magazine article will help. Not that many eligible bachelors read _Glamour_, but it might just give her ego the kick it needs to put herself out there, you know? She's no young thing anymore and if she's not careful, she'll wind up…well…" She snuck a glance at him. "You."

There was too much truth in her words for them to leave any bruise. Fortunately, they arrived at their scene just then and he didn't have the chance to even think about her remark until hours later.

Back at the lab, he was just finishing reading through the preliminary autopsy report when Sara passed by his office door. In the past, she would have stopped to say goodbye. These days, she usually didn't even pause.

Grissom found himself jumping up and heading for the door. "Sara."

She turned around, surprised. "Yes?"

He had no idea why he'd stopped her, much less what he was going to say now that he had her attention. "Um…how--how did Greg do tonight?"

"Fine," she answered with placating patience. "You know, he's been doing this for over a year now, Grissom. He's rookie, but not a baby."

"Of course." He pulled at his ear to give his hands something to do. "And…how was your night?"

"Busy." Impatience crept into her tone. "Grissom, did you need something?"

He thought quickly. "I…well…um…" He gave up. "No. I guess not."

There it was again. That look of utter resignation on her face. What was that about? "Yeah." She turned back around. "Right."

As she walked away, he got another reminder that Sara definitely wasn't male.

* * *

To Be Continued 


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Characters contained within do not belong to me. 

Author's Notes: Thanks to everyone who's reading this story! I keep writing for y'all;) Okay, I do it because I love it, but y'all help keep me going! FYI, in case anyone's interested, I'm going to be the Featured Fan Fic Writer of the Week on YTDAW starting March 13th. If you have any questions about my stories or fan fic in general, log on then and ask away! For the time being, enjoy the story;)

* * *

Beauty and the Beholder

by Kristen Elizabeth

* * *

_"The only limit to our realization of tomorrow will be our doubts of today." - FDR_

* * *

"Sara."

She'd been on her way out for the night, already looking forward to a much needed shower and shampoo. Only when she felt like a civilized human being again could she start to process the enormity of what she'd agreed to do tonight.

But Grissom's voice resonating down the hall had put all that on hold. She had no choice but to turn around and pray that her shock at his sudden acknowledgement of her wasn't displayed across her face. "Yes?"

There was a pause, like he wasn't entirely sure what to say, even though he had been the one to initiate this rare contact. "Um…how--how did Greg do tonight?"

Greg was a good enough friend for her to be a little ticked. It was like he still expected their lab rat-turned-colleague to mess up without constant supervision. "Fine. You know, he's been doing this for over a year now, Grissom. He's rookie, but not a baby."

"Of course." He pulled at his ear, a strange, but endearing boyish gesture that spoke volumes of his discomfort. And that saddened her. Rather than grow closer as the years of their acquaintance rolled by, Grissom seemed to get more and more uncomfortable around her. "And…how was your night?"

Now he was just making forced conversation. Her sorrow melted back into irritation. "Busy. Grissom, did you need something?"

He looked panicked for words. "I…well…um…" And instead of sticking with it until he found what he wanted to say to her, Sara watched as he gave up. "No. I guess not."

Grissom was Grissom. A constant that would never change. Expecting him to be someone he wasn't had only ever resulted in wasted hours of wishing, and eventual heartache.

But from now on there would be none of that. She would do her very best to never expect anything from the man again. And if she succeeded, she would never be hurt.

"Yeah." Sara turned on her heel. Because even though her vow was fresh in her mind, she couldn't look at him anymore without either kissing him, kicking him or crying in front of him. "Right."

She didn't look back as she walked away. It was better to imagine that he was watching her go than be faced with the reality that he probably wasn't.

* * *

Three days later, the photo shoot had slipped to the far back of Sara's mind. So when Catherine appeared at her apartment just after she woke up for the day, it took Sara a minute to realize why she was there.

"You want to what?" she asked the older woman.

Catherine sighed, pushing her sunglasses up onto the top of her head. "They've asked to bring in at least one complete outfit, in case we don't happen to look good in any of the clothes they have at the shoot. Not that I expect us to need our own stuff; no one doesn't look good in Prada." She walked into the apartment without waiting for an invite. "We need to go through your closet and see if you have anything remotely appropriate."

Sara closed the door and counted to ten before replying, "And if I don't?"

"Well, that's why the shopping spree was invented." Catherine looked around. "Bedroom?"

The last thing on earth Sara wanted to do was to let Catherine the Judgmental rifle through her closet. But Catherine was very good at getting her way, and of making someone's life miserable until she did. It was better to give in and get it over with. At least she could take consolation in the fact that she'd finally given the Goodwill her last paisley shirt.

"Through there." Sara followed Catherine, dragging her heels like she was ten years old again. She continued to sulk as the older woman threw open her closet door and announced, "Honestly, it's not as bad as I expected."

"Just what were you expecting?"

"Oh…you know…" Catherine pushed apart two coat hangers to examine a black turtleneck. "Paisley." She pulled out a grey suit jacket. "This might work with some black pants and some kind of colorful belt. Maybe even a scarf tied around your waist."

Sara stifled a yawn. "Okay."

Catherine glanced at her. "You really don't get into this stuff at all, do you?"

"Not being a girly-girl isn't a crime."

"Did you ever get into it?" Catherine asked, pulling out another top. "School dances, maybe? Prom?"

Sara leaned against the wall, crossing her arms over her chest in silent defense. "I didn't go to my prom." She hadn't meant to let that slip, because now Catherine would want to know why. Anticipating her question, Sara went on, "I went to Harvard early and missed the whole end of my senior year." Not that she'd missed much. She'd only been at the school for a few months, after being sent to her tenth and final foster home over that summer. Certainly not long enough to make any friends, let alone find any potential prom dates.

"That's a shame," Catherine mused. "Prom was probably the highlight of my entire high school experience." She held up a pair of khaki pants. "Do you own anything with actual color?"

"No. I'm allergic to it."

For that, she got a withering look. "Sara, clothes make the woman. It's hard to feel sexy in…" She held out a navy blue suit. "…this."

Sara snatched the hanger away from her and replaced it on the rack. "I wear that to court, Catherine. If I was going for 'sexy' there, I could be held in contempt."

"You can be sexy without being a big ho-bag. It's all about subtlety. If I teach you nothing else, I will at least stress the utter importance of silky little top underneath a suit jacket."

"Look, I'm not that girl," Sara said softly. "So while I appreciate the effort, I don't need a makeover." She gestured to herself. "This is as good as it gets."

Catherine sighed. "Usually I don't waste my time with flattery, but I'm going to make an exception here. You've got a hell of a pair of legs. Your boobs wouldn't suffer from a Wonderbra, but they're not bad on their own. You're walking the line between thin and skinny, but that's fashionable. And not many people could pull off your teeth, but you make it work."

Sara frowned. There were a few compliments mixed into that brutally frank breakdown of her body, so she said, "Um…thanks."

"Dress yourself up a little bit and you might be surprised at the attention you get." Catherine found something in the very back of Sara's closet and pulled it out. "Wow."

Immediately, Sara's cheeks burned. She'd bought the navy blue floor-length evening gown at a clearance sale, figuring that in Las Vegas, she might need a cocktail dress eventually. In six years, she had yet to wear it once. It was still encased in its plastic sheath, an eternal monument to her lack of a social life. "I doubt that's what the photographer has in mind for business attire," she reminded Catherine.

But the older woman was too busy examining the dress. "How far down does this slit in the back go?"

Sara's blush doubled in intensity. "Um…that's the front."

It was strangely satisfying to see Catherine's eyes bug out.

* * *

On her way to work, Sara considered calling in sick over a dozen times. Damn Catherine for using her as some sort of Barbie doll. As she pulled into the lab's parking lot, Sara looked down at her outfit.

"I look ridiculous."

She'd allowed herself to be dragged out shopping, her absolute least favorite activity. And not only that, she'd actually been forced to buy things. And one of them had been a shell-pink silk camisole edged in lace.

She wore it now underneath a new, dark blue blazer, stylishly cut short just below her waist. Matching pants that hugged her body and a pair of work-appropriate heels completed the outfit. But in a small act of defiance, she'd done her usual hair and makeup.

Feeling six feet tall and not a little like a kid playing dress up, Sara entered the lab. And as her cursed fate would have it, the first person she encountered was Hodges.

"Sara." He looked her up and down. "Been raiding Catherine's closet, have we?"

She was so tempted to tell him exactly where and how deep he could stick his comments. But through a miracle, she maintained her composure and even managed to smile sweetly. "Have a good shift, Hodges."

Sara successfully avoided all other contact until she reached the break room. Grissom was already inside, brewing a pot of the coffee she desperately needed. There was no way to avoid him and get her caffeine fix.

"Hey," she said, breathlessly.

He glanced over his shoulder for a brief second before returning his attention to the coffee. "Good evening, Sara."

Behind his back, she stuck her tongue out at him. It wasn't fair that she felt guilty for it a second later. Sara cleared her throat and tried again. "Will it be a slow night or should I put on another pot?"

"There are plenty of assignments," Grissom said. "Death to go around." He poured a cup and handed it to her.

Sara looked down at the black liquid. "I take sugar," she whispered. He didn't seem to hear her. But what else was new?

After sweetening her drink, she took a sip. "So, who am I with tonight?"

"The rest of the team isn't here yet," Grissom reminded her.

"C'mon, Grissom." She shook her head. "I can't do forced small talk. Can we at least talk about work stuff?"

He turned around and looked at her. "Nick."

Sara wasn't surprised to hear she wouldn't be partnered with him. But she was still disappointed. She missed working with Grissom. She missed learning new techniques. She missed getting to show him just how far she'd come.

Maybe he needed to know that.

"Nothing against Nick," she started, setting down her cup. "But every now and then, I really miss working with you." Grissom blinked. "You are my mentor, after all." Sara paused. "Just so you know."

* * *

To Be Continued 


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: Characters contained within do not belong to me. 

Author's Notes: Thank you everyone for all the reviews. In case you missed it, there is a new chapter of "The Invisible Man" that went up while the site was all wonky. Enjoy this new chapter until next time!

* * *

Beauty and the Beholder 

by Kristen Elizabeth

* * *

"Hey." 

Grissom nearly burned his hand on the coffee pot as Sara entered the room without warning. Fortunately she saw nothing and he could turn and greet her with a modicum of dignity. "Good evening, Sara."

Sara cleared her throat a moment later. "Will it be a slow night or should I put on another pot?"

"There's plenty of assignments." Because the words sounded abrupt even to him, Grissom added, "Death to go around."

She didn't react; she didn't even crack a smile. He quickly poured her a cup of coffee and held it out to her, the only peace offering he had on hand.

Grissom watched her face drop. "I take sugar."

He should have known that. Like he should have known she was a vegetarian. And he should have known when she started dating the paramedic. And he should have known…he had to stop. There were too many examples.

Sara added her own sugar. "So, who am I with tonight?"

"The rest of the team isn't here yet." Why did she have to turn the conversation straight to work?

"C'mon, Grissom. "I can't do forced small talk. Can we at least talk about work stuff?"

Well, that answered that question. He really had managed to kill anything personal between them.

Grissom turned to face her. He expected to see annoyance written all over her face. But all he saw was defeat. "Nick," he finally replied.

For a long moment, she said nothing. Finally, when he was just about to go on, Sara spoke. "Nothing against Nick." She set down her cup. "But every now and then I really miss working with you."

All he could do was stare at her. She could put everything into words like it was easy or something.

"You are my mentor after all." She paused. "Just so you know."

Grissom fortified himself with a strong sip of coffee. The words didn't surprise him, just the fact that she still didn't trust him to know at least that. "Sara…are you still planning to do this…magazine shoot?"

"I am." Sara folded her arms over her stomach. "Catherine's already had me exercising my Visa card for new clothes for it."

He was surprised at the soft quality of his voice. "Why?"

She sighed. "Because apparently I have no taste."

Once again, she'd misunderstood him. Or he hadn't been clear enough. It was hard to tell. "No, I mean…why are you going to do it?"

"Why wouldn't I do it?" she shot back.

Grissom swallowed. "It just doesn't seem…like you."

The seconds it took her to reply ticked by like hours. "What am I supposed to be like?"

"Ah…"

Her temper was sparked. At least he hadn't beaten that out of her. "Come on, Grissom. Tell me. What image of me do you have that I'm supposed to live up to?"

He could have picked any answer in the world and done better than the one he went with. "Women in law enforcement have to work twice as hard to be taken seriously, Sara. And it's difficult to take anyone seriously who puts themselves on display in a mindless fashion magazine when they have no business being there."

"You think I'm going to humiliate myself."

Grissom stared at her. Did he have to spell out his feelings for her? He was trying to protect her, and she just wasn't quite getting it. "Sara, I…"

She threw up a hand to silence him. "Not only that, you think I'm going to humiliate the lab. And maybe even the entire department. Oh my god, Grissom…even I don't think I'm that hideous!"

He had to stop this before it went any further. "Please calm down and…"

"Calm is not going to happen." She pushed away from the counter. "You know what…tell Nick I'll meet him at his car." Sara stalked towards the door. "I can't breathe in here."

Catherine walked in a moment later; he was still staring at the floor, trying to figure out what he'd done wrong this time. "Sara's lit up about something tonight," she told him. "Tip from me to you…stay out of her way."

Free advice. You got what you paid for.

* * *

Sara's righteous fury over her last conversation with Grissom sustained her through the rest of the week. It was like food. She could live off itas ifit was emotional carbs. And being infuriated with Grissom certainly helped keep her anxiety about the photo shoot from taking over; she was so busy ranting against him to anything or anyone who would listen…her pillow, her breakfast cereal, Greg Sanders…that she didn't have time to be nervous. 

But then Saturday arrived. A friendly wake-up call from Catherine at five a.m. jolted her out of a dream in which she was slowly and deliberately plucking each and every one of his arm hairs with a tweezers from his own kit.

"Rise and shine," Catherine ordered after Sara's grumpy greeting. "Ecklie's given us the ballistics lab and the trace lab for exactly three hours this morning starting from the moment the first picture is snapped. No more, no less. We cannot be late."

Sara rolled over onto her back, blinking the sleep out of her eyes. "Catherine…I don't know if I can do this."

"Don't even go there, Sara. We got past this. Now get your ass out of bed and into the shower. I'll be by in an hour to get you."

She grumbled through her shower. She grumbled through pulling on a jeans and a t-shirt. She grumbled through two cups of coffee. But she stopped when Catherine arrived. There was something in the woman's eyes that told her to keep her mouth shut.

They arrived at the lab fifteen minutes ahead of schedule, but already thirty minutes behind the photo crew. Immediately, they were both pulled into the wardrobe trailer, set up in the parking lot.

An hour and a half later, Sara was almost convinced that Grissom might have been onto something.

But then the makeup artist swung her chair around to face the mirror. "Take a look, Sara," the woman said with a smile.

It wasn't a stranger who stared back at her; she could still see Sara Sidle here and there. But never again would she underestimate the power of expertly applied eye makeup. Or enhanced cheekbones. Or lined lips. Or styled hair.

Or a knee-length form-fitting black leather skirt with a slit up to the back of her thigh, paired with a matching vest and boots.

"Oh…" Sara stood up, getting the full picture of the hair, the makeup and the wardrobe altogether. "What the hell have I gotten myself into?"

* * *

Grissom walked into the ballistics lab just as the photographer was testing the lights. He blinked in the glare of the lamps; somehow he'd completely forgotten about the photo shoot in the wake of a very long shift. 

His irritation with the whole thing doubled when he realized he wouldn't be getting his bullet results for another couple of hours.

The photographer was yelling something about too much yellow when Grissom turned to go. He was stopped in his tracks by a vision coming down the hall.

Everything around her stopped, like his brain couldn't process anything else. He needed to take her frame by frame. In slow motion.

Her heeled boots clicked against the floor in a regular pattern, one foot in front of the other. The space between where the boots ended and her skirt began was only a couple of inches, mostly knee, but covered in a delicate web of soft black nylon. The skirt itself hugged her hips, which swayed with each step. There was the barest strip of skin separating the waist of the skirt and the hem of the vest that molded to her torso. Her arms were bare. Her throat was unadorned. There was a touch of cleavage, nothing scandalous, but it didn't take much to get him going. Her hair was a silky tangle of curls that bounced on her shoulders.

And her face. It was Sara, but more so. Almost too much for a mere mortal like him.

Grissom's mouth felt like the desert that surrounded them. What the hell had he gotten himself into?

* * *

To Be Continued 


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: Characters contained within do not belong to me. 

Author's Notes: Thank you to everyone reading my story;) I hope you keep enjoying it!

* * *

Beauty and the Beholder

by Kristen Elizabeth

* * *

_Yet he was jealous, though he did not show it, for jealousy dislikes the world to know it. - Lord Byron_

* * *

As a vegetarian, she probably should have been opposed to the leather ensemble. But Sara couldn't bring herself to hate the outfit. It fit perfectly, it felt great, and it had Grissom staring at her as she walked down the hall towards the ballistics lab.

Okay, walked wasn't quite the right word. There was definitely a little bit of saunter going on, maybe even some sashaying. Sara blamed the leather. It seemed to bring out something in her that she couldn't control.

She stopped just outside the room, like she'd seen models do at the end of the runway. Her audience of one blinked.

Sara offered him a truce in the form of a smile. "So…what do you think?"

"I think…" Grissom paused. "…that's hardly what I'd call professional attire. At least not our profession."

His careless words were like a bucket of ice water, washing away any trace of warmth left between them.

"It would've taken less breath to just call me a whore." She brushed past him and approached the photographer. "I'm ready. Where do you want me?"

"Sara, right?" The man balanced his camera in one hand and held out his other to her to shake. "Dylan. Here's what I'm going for." He fanned his arms. "Smart, not in spite of being sexy, but because of it. Your clothes, they walk the line between too much and not enough. You are woman, in charge of your microscopes. You use your brains not your brawn to catch the bad guys. You…"

Out of the corner of her eye, Sara watched Grissom slink towards the door. "That's fine," she cut him off. "Let's just do this thing."

* * *

Catherine's experience in hair and makeup was no more revealing than her usual trips to the beauty parlor. She examined the results in the mirror with a critical eye before nodding with a fair amount of satisfaction. Perfection attained yet again. And the clothes were nice, too.

Although the slate-blue pants set she wore was a potato sack compared to Sara's leather.

As she came down the hall, Catherine was pleased by the attention she received. And she was doubly pleased when Warrick turned a corner, caught a glimpse of her, and actually double-blinked. For him, that was a fairly big display.

"Lookin' good," he told her. Out of the millions of compliments she'd gotten from men over the years, it was one of the best she could remember.

"Not so bad yourself," she tossed back with a wink. She figured she was already going to hell for a lot of things; flirting with a married man wasn't going to put her over the top. "You should see Sara."

Warrick's smile was tinged with mirth. "Don't have to. I saw Grissom after he saw her."

"Pale?"

"Like a ghost."

Catherine smirked. "Then my work here is done." She tossed her hair. "See you later."

She could feel his eyes on her backside as she walked away. It was a good day.

* * *

"Hey, boss." Greg knocked on the doorframe and casually leaned into Grissom's office. "Got something for me to do?"

Grissom looked up from the paperwork in which he'd almost succeeded in burying himself. "Not until we get our ballistics lab back."

"I sense a disturbance in your Force." Without bothering to be invited in, Greg plopped into a chair in front of the older man's desk. "Not crazy about the camera crew being here?"

"If you're really desperate for work, there's always the cold case files."

"I'd rather talk about Sara in a leather mini-skirt."

Grissom's pencil snapped in half.

"Apparently not a topic you're unfamiliar with," Greg noted.

He dropped the broken pieces and flexed his palm. "What do you want, Greg?"

"The same thing you do."

They watched each other for a moment, seeing one another through the unfamiliar eyes of rivals. Finally, Greg broke the stare. "I never had a chance." He stood up. "Don't blow yours."

Grissom waited until he was long gone before he left his office, heading to the source of commotion in his usually serene lab.

* * *

Sara couldn't remember ever perching on the edge of a countertop and holding a piece of evidence up to the light as she examined it through a magnifying glass. But like she'd been told when she protested the pose, they were going for stylization, not reality.

Dylan paused between shots. "Have you ever done any modeling before?" he asked. "Because this camera is in love with you."

At least something was.

He flashed her a huge smile. "Okay, now let's get you standing doing the same thing." She slipped off the counter and struck the same pose. "That's great, Sara. Amazing. Now just turn a little bit to your left…exactly. Hold that."

Her neck ached. Her feet hurt. But it wasn't until she saw Grissom's face in the small crowd that her head started to pound.

Dylan continued to snap pictures, unaware of her discomfort. "One more, Sara. Look beyond me…as though you just had a breakthrough on a case."

She focused on him for the final shot.

"That's it," the photographer announced. "Fabulous. You have no idea how amazing these pictures are going to be."

Sara cleared her dry throat. "Great." The crowd was starting to disperse, heading back to their jobs, but Grissom stayed behind. Watching her.

"Just out of curiosity…are you seeing anyone?" Dylan glanced up from his camera. "If not, would you like have dinner with me some night, Sara?"

Every molecule of her body was aware of Grissom's presence as she replied, "I'm not seeing anyone. Dinner would be nice."

"Then it's a date. Can I call you here to set it up or…"

Sara rattled off her cell phone number. Sometime during the string of numbers, Grissom slipped away. When she finally worked up the courage to look at him, he was gone.

* * *

To Be Continued 


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: Characters contained within do not belong to me. 

Author's Notes: I know, I know! An unforgivable amount of time has passed since I updated this story. I can't explain it other to say that when you're blocked, you're blocked. And until a few hours ago, I was blocked. I have to give thanks to Leslie for bugging me into at least looking at the story again. I already have a plan for the next chapter, so hopefully it won't take so long for it to come out. Thanks for all your patience, and for still being interested after all these months;)

* * *

Beauty and the Beholder 

by Kristen Elizabeth

* * *

_We must accept finite disappointment, but never lose infinite hope. - Martin Luther King, Jr._

* * *

This was ridiculous. 

What respectable criminalist sat on the edge of their work station with their back arched? Not to mention the fact that the old-fashioned magnifying glass was really only useful when you were examining photographs, not a fiber like Sara was supposedly doing. This photographer had it all wrong. He was making their job into a joke.

But one thing Grissom couldn't argue, even in his own head, was the fact that ridiculous or not, the pose made Sara's long neck even longer. She was spread out in front of the camera like a buffet, offering every temptation he'd trained himself to resist.

The bastard photographer continued to snap pictures. "One more, Sara. Look beyond me…as though you just had a breakthrough on a case."

She looked past the man taking her picture, and focused right on him. His skin crawled in a way that made him shift from one foot to the other. He told himself it was the make-up. Her eyes were darker, more mysterious. Her lips were fuller, redder. Any male would react this way to a painted female of his species. Wasn't that the historical purpose of make-up?

"That's it," the photographer announced. "Fabulous. You have no idea how amazing these pictures are going to be."

Sara cleared her throat, like she didn't really believe the man. "Great."

Everyone around him was dispersing, heading back to their jobs. He probably should have been the first one out the door, but it was hard to lead a movement when you couldn't actually move. He was grounded to the spot, still staring at the leather-bound temptress who had overtaken his CSI.

The photographer started speaking to her. Grissom heard the words, but it took a second before each one registered in his mind. "Just out of curiosity…are you seeing anyone? If not, would you like have dinner with me some night, Sara?"

He felt like he'd been shot by a freeze ray in a cartoon. His blood certainly felt cold enough. Until that very second, it hadn't occurred to him that other men could see what he was seeing. Let alone that they might do something about it.

Grissom wanted to step forward, to say something. He wasn't quite sure what; his brain was still scrambling to catch up. He probably would have just reminded her that it was still a workday, and she had a heavy caseload that couldn't be ignored much longer.

In retrospect, he was very glad his mouth hadn't been working enough to get those words out.

"I'm not seeing anyone," Sara told the photographer. She was looking him again. "Dinner would be nice."

The inevitability of life never ceased to wound him.

"Then it's a date. Can I call you here to set it up or…"

While Sara was giving him her phone number, Grissom finally regained control over his legs. He ordered them to walk away, as far as he could get, as fast as he could get there.

* * *

So, what did one wear on a date with a fashion photographer? 

Sara found herself plagued by this question three days later. She was standing in front of her closet in her robe, with her wet hair up in a towel, completely confounded as to how she could have a fairly decent amount of clothes, and yet have absolutely nothing to wear.

Dylan was taking her to dinner, but he wouldn't say where. Only that it was "nice." What did that mean? Nice to some guys was Benihana's. Nice to others was Spago. She had no clue what his gauge for "nice" was, but she imagined it was somewhere up there.

First, she dismissed all pants suits. Admittedly, this brought her options down by a significant number. She disregarded anything with flowers or prints. This left her with very few choices.

She thumbed through what was left. The dark blue cocktail gown with the slit down the front that ran almost to the navel, and consequently would never see the light of day. Yeah, that was out. A red dress with a halter top that tied around the neck and full, knee-length skirt that she couldn't even remember purchasing. The tag was still attached to it, and she knew for sure she'd never been in the store it came from.

Catherine, she immediately concluded. The damnable woman had infiltrated her closet. There was no place safe from her fashion sense.

She considered tossing it aside, but the truth was it was perfect for the occasion. Dressy enough for any sort of nice restaurant, but casual enough to where she didn't feel like she was playing dress-up.

And even though it fit like it was designed for her body, Sara made a mental note to give Catherine several pieces of her mind as soon as possible.

Her doorbell rang just as she was dabbing on lip gloss. She gave her reflection a final once-over. The model was gone. But the woman looking back at her wasn't half-bad.

* * *

Months ago, Grissom had ordered a series of lectures on DVD from entomology and forensics conventions he'd been unable to attend due to his work load. They'd been sitting in the box they'd been shipped in ever since they'd arrived. 

The night of Sara's date with Dylan the photographer seemed as good a night as any to dust them off.

He was actually immersed in Dr. Gustav Baumgardner's presentation on the mole crickets of England at the International Symposium in Madrid for a full ten minutes before he thought about Sara.

He hadn't wanted to know anything about date, but unforeseen forces, and one foreseen one named Greg Sanders, had conspired against him. They were probably having dinner right then at one of the city's most expensive restaurants, while he sat at home, washing down leftover pot roast with a glass of jug wine and watching a German man talk about an insect on the brink of extinction.

Grissom swallowed, but his throat felt sticky. He tugged at the collar of his shirt, hoping to ease the discomfort.

He would be happy for her. Whether this date turned out to be nothing more than a nice meal and some conversation, or blossomed into an engagement and a marriage…he would say nothing about it. There was nothing to say. This was how it was always supposed to end.

Leftovers, cheap wine and bugs. Like it or not, that was the truth of his life.

* * *

"So I even though I told them that the blue wasn't going to show up against all that black, they just went right ahead and had the model wear the skirt. And then they got pissy when it didn't stand out!" Dylan took a sip of water. "But I ended up dating the model for two months, so I guess it wasn't all bad." 

It took every bit of strength Sara possessed to fight back a yawn.

She was excruciatingly bored. And their entrées hadn't arrived yet.

Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, her date didn't seem to notice the glassy look in her eyes, or the fact that she'd nearly devoured the entire bread basket because chewing kept her awake.

Sara smiled politely at the end of his story even though she'd seen it coming a mile away. All of his stories ended with him dating the model. It hadn't taken her long to realize that she was the model from his latest shoot. The consolation prize for his day's work.

Asking her to dinner had been a reflex for Dylan, as natural as breathing was to her. He hadn't done it because she was beautiful or special or outstanding. She wanted to be angry about it, but she couldn't work up the emotion. It wasn't as though she'd completely convinced herself that this handsome photographer who'd worked with the most stunning women on the planet actually found her a cut above the rest.

And if she was being honest with herself, she never would have accepted his invitation if Grissom hadn't been standing right there, watching from a distance. Like always.

"I think the most difficult shoot I ever did, though, was for Fashion Week in Milan," Dylan began just as their entrées arrived.

If she could have, Sara would have kissed their waiter.

* * *

"You're telling me that he took you to Nine…and you didn't have a good time?" 

If Grissom hadn't already been halfway into the break room, he would have turned around immediately upon seeing Catherine and Sara sitting at the table, nursing matching cups of coffee. As it was, they both looked up and saw him. So retreating would have been far too conspicuous. He was forced to keep walking to the coffee pot.

"It's a steakhouse. I'm a vegetarian." His back was to them, so Grissom couldn't see the expression on her face, but her voice sounded odd. "It was a good thing I ate as much bread as I did, otherwise I might have gone hungry."

Catherine sighed. "Sara, I know you have this...issue about meat, but really, the whole vegetarian thing…it's not sexy."

Sara coughed. A small seed of indignation planted itself in Grissom's chest on her behalf. Catherine was stepping on a line. "Excuse me?" Sara said, coming to her own defense when he couldn't.

"Calm down. I'm not attacking a whole lifestyle here. I'm just saying, most guys hear 'vegetarian' and they get these images of granola-crunching girls who don't shave their arm pits. Neo-hippism went out in the mid-nineties for a reason."

"For the record, not only do I shave my arm pits, I also hit my legs every now and then. And I am not trying to make a political statement. I…"

Taking a deep breath, Grissom turned around and cut her off. "The health benefits of a vegetarian diet are undeniable. Lower in cholesterol, higher in fiber. Some studies even show that the absence of animal fat can have beauty benefits as well. Clearer skin, healthier bones and teeth. If I had more willpower against a good hamburger, I might consider giving it a try myself."

The women stared at him. Catherine looked annoyed. Sara…she just looked surprised.

Grissom pointed to the door with his coffee cup. "I'll be in my office."

Burying himself in paperwork for as long as he could.

* * *

To Be Continued 


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: Characters contained within do not belong to me. 

Author's Notes: I was so happy to see that this story was welcomed back from temporary hiatus with such enthusiasm. Thank you so much. I hope you enjoy this chapter just as much.

* * *

Beauty and the Beholder

by Kristen Elizabeth

* * *

_"He will not always say what you would have him say, but now and then he'll say something wonderful." - Rodgers and Hammerstein,_ The King and I

* * *

"The health benefits of a vegetarian diet are undeniable. Lower in cholesterol, higher in fiber. Some studies even show that the absence of animal fat can have beauty benefits as well. Clearer skin, healthier bones and teeth. If I had more willpower against a good hamburger, I might consider giving it a try myself."

She couldn't stop staring at him. The man was just one giant, confusing mess. She could spend an entire lifetime studying him, but she would probably never even come close to figuring out what made him tick. How he could be so indifferent one day, practically calling her a whore, in fact…then come to her rescue the next. It boggled her mind.

It meant that no matter what he did, she could never really give up on him.

But just like clockwork, he realized what he'd done. And it was time for him to retreat. Sara had to fight to hold back a resigned laugh when Grissom pointed to the door with his coffee cup. "I'll be in my office."

"Of course," she murmured once he was gone.

Catherine stood up. "Refill?"

"I'm good."

"So, are you sure you won't give the poor meat-eater another chance?" Catherine gestured with the coffee pot. "He's got it all, Sara. The whole package."

Sara shook her head. "The whole package should include something in common besides a necessity upon oxygen for survival. No, Cath. It was a one-time date. I plan to lose his number as fast as possible."

"Can you lose it in my purse?" she asked with a sly grin.

"He's all yours." She picked up her cup and brought it all the way up to her lips, but stopped before drinking. When she finally noticed Catherine watching her, Sara set it back down. "What?"

"Nothing." Catherine hesitated. "All right. Could your disinterest in him have anything to do with an on-going interest in…" She trailed off.

Sara folded her arms and looked her in the eye. "An on-going interest in what, exactly?"

The older woman nodded. "Yeah. I thought so."

All of a sudden, Sara was too tired for innuendo. After six, almost seven years of hiding, Sara was ready to lay it all out on the table.

"Look, we're not in high school. You know that I have feelings for Grissom. And you know that they're not returned. So, can we stop this little game of ours? I'll do my part and admit that Dylan never stood a chance when compared to Grissom." Her hand tightened around her cup. "Now, will you do your part, and never, under any circumstances, mention any of this to him?"

"Are you sure that's what you want?"

"I've embarrassed myself in front of him enough on my own. I don't need the added humiliation of him knowing that I can't move on with my life." Sara walked to the sink and emptied her cup. "It's not something I'm proud of." She lifted one shoulder. "But what can you do?"

Catherine looked like she wanted to put a hand on her arm, but some invisible barrier of formality still existed between them. "You can't control who you fall in love with," she mused. "And yeah…I should know."

Their eyes met for a moment, and Sara found herself smiling softly. "I never thanked you."

"For what?"

"Invading my closet."

Catherine laughed. "And here I was waiting for you to chew me out."

"Oh, I was going to," Sara assured her. "But if you hadn't, I would have gone to Nine in black pants and a tank top."

Putting a hand to her heart, Catherine shook her head. "That just hurts, Sara."

It was her turn to laugh. "You've got style, Cath. Sometimes I envy you." Her smile fell. "If you wanted him, you could have had him years ago."

Before Catherine could say anything, Sara shook off the moment. "We should probably get to work. Do you mind if I skip the autopsy? I want to check on the fingernail scrapings in DNA."

She barely waited for Catherine's approval before she escaped from the break room. She felt raw and exposed.

Yet…strangely lighter.

* * *

Two weeks passed, and the magazine shoot was rapidly fading into a strange, but distant memory for almost everyone involved. Unfortunately, Grissom was not one of the lucky few who could smile with amusement about that day.

For him, it would always be cemented in his mind as the day he had been forced to come face to face with the reality that sometime in the near future, millions of people were going to see what he'd seen all along. That Sara Sidle was beautiful. She would no longer be his best kept secret.

Things were going to change, and he had no control over any of it.

But he tried to push those thoughts away, especially in her presence. That wasn't hard; he really only saw her at work. But one day, he found himself accepting an invitation to breakfast with the team at Frank's. Not only was Sara there, but somehow they ended up sitting side-by-side, squeezed together in the corner booth that wasn't nearly big enough for six.

After their orders were taken, Nick looked at Sara. "Hey, when does that magazine of y'all's come out?"

"I have no idea," Sara replied as she added sugar to her coffee. Two packets, Grissom noted for future reference. "Catherine?"

"Next month, I think. It was a relatively last-minute shoot." Bumped up against Warrick, Catherine looked quite content. "I wish we got to see the proofs first, though."

Greg was sitting on Grissom's other side, and as the youngest, he had the least amount of space afforded to him. Half of his body was actually out of the booth. "I don't think they could've taken a bad picture," he declared. "You two were hot." Catching looks all around from the other men, he spread his hands. "What? They were! Grissom, back me up here."

All eyes except Sara's went to him. She was very pointedly looking down into her mug.

It would have been so easy to agree with Greg. Later, he would sit at home and think of different answers he could have given.

_I'm sure they both looked lovely._

_I didn't really see Catherine, but Sara looked quite nice._

_You looked beautiful, Sara._

_You looked mind-numbingly fantastic._

_I wanted to fuck you on Bobby's workstation._

What actually came out would haunt him for a long time. He blamed it on the unnerving way her arm was rubbing against him.

Grissom took a sip of scalding coffee to clear his throat. "I'd be more concerned about the article. Do you even know what it is that you've attached your face to?"

"Do you really think a woman's magazine is going to print an article painting female scientists in a bad light?" Sara's question was low, but direct.

"I wouldn't begin to hazard a guess," he said. "But I think I would have found out for sure before I dressed in a leather skirt and posed in the ballistics lab."

While Warrick, Greg, and Nick all looked a little ill at this mental image, Catherine arched one eyebrow in what looked like consideration. Sara, however, wasn't amused. He could feel her body stiffen against him in a way that made it clear she no longer wanted to be on the same planet as him, much less squeezed into a tiny booth.

"So, now not only am I a whore, I'm also dim-witted. Great. Thanks, Grissom."

The mood at the table crashed and burned. Grissom could feel heat creeping up his neck, spreading across his face. "Sara, I don't think you understood what I…"

"It doesn't matter. I need to get going, anyway." She looked at him for a second. "Are you going to move?"

Her eyes were on fire; he'd never seen her quite as mad ever before. Not even when confronting a wife-beater or a child molester. But he couldn't let her run away without even trying to explain himself. "Sara…"

"Fine." She twisted and looked at Nick. "Sorry to do this to you all."

Without saying anything, Nick, Warrick, and Catherine all scooted out of the booth to let her out. Once free, Sara apologized again, making eye contact with everyone but him. "Enjoy your breakfast. I hope I didn't ruin it." She handed a five dollar bill to Greg to cover her fruit and oatmeal, then left.

Silence cloaked the table for a long time after she was gone. Finally, Catherine sighed. "Damn it, Gil!"

His hand was trembling; he gripped his mug tighter, hoping no one noticed. "I never called her either of those things."

"Not in so many words, at least." Nick quickly sipped his coffee and turned his eyes up to the ceiling, avoiding Grissom's deadly stare.

"Do you know how much coaxing I had to do to get her to agree to the shoot? There was pleading and cajoling involved. Hell, I flirted with her apartment manager to get into her place to plant appropriate clothes in her closet. And now all of my work has gone down the drain because you can't stand the thought of her in anything but a lab coat and coveralls." Catherine narrowed her glare at him. "Thanks to you, she'll probably never wear anything with color ever again!"

"Yeah, thanks," Greg pouted. "No more little silk tops."

Grissom pointed at the younger man. "This is exactly what I'm saying. That photo shoot has inflicted lasting damage to her reputation as a criminalist. It turned her into something to be objectified, not respected."

"Do you feel the same way about Catherine, then?" Warrick asked. "You can't respect her anymore, either?"

The questions hit him hard, rendering him speechless.

"Or maybe you just don't care if Cath displays her money-makers in a magazine," Nick suggested.

Grissom shook his head, trying to shake it all away. Especially the truth. "This entire conversation is misguided and inappropriate."

"Translation," Catherine said. "It's hitting too close to home, guys. And home in this case is right below the belt." She shook her hair back from her face. "I just don't see why you couldn't have let her feel beautiful. Just for once. Why did you have to take that away from her?"

Greg came to Sara's defense. "Catherine, come on. She's always beautiful. "

"Then how come you haven't ever asked her out for real, Greggo?" Nick asked.

"Because…" Greg's smile was rueful. "I already know what her answer would be."

Their food arrived just then, but Grissom no longer had an appetite. He made the motions of cutting into his egg, watching the yolk bleed to the edges of his toast.

If his relationship with Sara was a race towards some undefined goal, he'd just fallen back several laps.

And as he watched Greg dig into his pancakes, Grissom wondered just when he'd started deluding himself into believing that no one else saw in Sara what he always had.

* * *

Sara successfully avoided Grissom for a week following the disastrous breakfast at Frank's. It wasn't difficult; he was avoiding her, too. One of the man's many talents was making himself scarce.

The magazine shoot might have had some serious repercussions, namely what seemed to be the dissolution of whatever relationship she had left with Grissom. But it had also served to point out several things about her life and her lifestyle that Sara didn't particularly like. First and foremost on that list was her malnourished wardrobe.

On her next day off, she took her credit card to the mall.

Hours later, laden with bags from various stores, Sara sank into an empty bench near the center fountains. Paying off the bill she'd racked up would take awhile, but there was an innate optimism that came from buying new clothes. Like things in your life really could be better with the addition of a burgundy wrap-around dress or soft gold cable-knit sweater.

She stood and was just about to gather all of her purchases and begin the long trek back to her car when she spotted him out of the corner of her eye.

No, she told herself at first. It couldn't be him. She'd managed to go a week without running into him at work! The mall should have been the one place in Las Vegas where she was guaranteed not to encounter Gil Grissom.

"Should have been" being the key phrase. Because on second look, it was definitely him emerging from the pet store with a small bag.

Their eyes met across the fountain. For Sara, it was a defining moment. Was she going to keep avoiding him, like she was punishing him for the simple act of not returning her feelings? Or was she going to suck it up, forgive him for being Grissom, and maybe push things back to their status quo?

As it turned out, she didn't have to decide. He held up his hand, indicating for her to stay put, and started around the fountain. Sara inhaled and released several deep breath in the time it took him to reach her, willing herself into a state of calm.

She greeted him with a neutral expression. And sweaty palms, which she really hoped he didn't notice. Her body was betraying her, acting like she was somehow at fault for the current state of things between them. He had been in the wrong, not her. Hopefully, he realized this, or else it would be a very short conversation.

"Doing some shopping?" she asked.

Grissom looked down at the bag. "Um…yes." Gesturing at all the packages around her, he added, "You too, I see."

"Just updating my wardrobe," Sara said. "A whore's look needs to change with the seasons, after all." Instantly, she regretted slipping into sarcasm. It was a bad defense mechanism.

"Sara, I apologize if I insinuated or came anywhere near to calling you…that. I certainly didn't mean it, because I would never even think it."

She wanted to ask him if that was true, then why was he being such a bastard about the stupid photo shoot? But that would have been too direct. And with Grissom, the more you generalized and hedged around the tough subjects, the more likely you were not to be avoided for another week or so.

"I'll accept your apology. If you'll tell me what's in the bag."

"Oh…um…" He shook his head. "It's nothing."

Sara wasn't sure what she'd been expecting. That Grissom would volunteer information about his life outside of work? "I see. You bought nothing." With a sigh, she nodded. "All right. Well, I'm glad we could clear up our misunderstanding about my status as a woman of loose morals. I'll see you tomorrow night."

She had almost all of her packages gathered before he spoke. "It's food. For my iguana."

Sara frowned. "You have an iguana? How long have you had an iguana?"

"A few years. It turns out you can't actually own a kimodo dragon in a residential neighborhood. Harry is the next best thing."

"Harry? You have an iguana…and his name is Harry?"

Grissom nodded. "He…um…well, he seems to think he should be mating right now. Unfortunately, I have no intentions of breeding iguanas. So, Harry's been a little testy."

Sara bit back a smirk. "I suppose that's natural."

"The pet store has a special mix of food that he likes. I thought it might help ease his…frustration. Or at least distract him from trying to hump my hand when I go to feed him."

She couldn't hold it back anymore. Her laughter echoed off the high, glass ceiling.

"I can't believe you find Harry's pain amusing."

Her sides hurt. "Grissom. Your pet iguana is horny. In what universe is that not amusing?"

The barest hint of a smile crept onto his face. "I suppose I can see that."

Sara was almost to the point of tears, but she wasn't entirely sure she was still laughing. It was just another moment that proved how powerless she was when it came to this man. He could do just about anything, say just about anything, bring her to the lowest point of her life, but then all he had to do was fumble a bit and smile…and she was his again.

* * *

To Be Continued 


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: Characters contained within do not belong to me. 

Author's Notes: I cannot thank everyone enough for the wonderful response to the last chapter. It makes me infinitely happy when I write something that makes people smile. And I'm so glad everyone seemed to love Harry. But really...what's not to love about a horny iguana? And yes, I just realized the ick factor in that statement.

* * *

Beauty and the Beholder

by Kristen Elizabeth

* * *

_Never mistake knowledge for wisdom. One helps you make a living; the other helps you make a life. --Sandra Carey_

* * *

"Doing some shopping?" Sara asked.

On his way around the mall fountain, Grissom had come up with several opening lines that he felt would convey apology, while hopefully returning a sense of normality to their bruised relationship.

But Sara was always quicker than he was. And once again, he found himself scrambling to put words together.

She was looking at his bag from the pet store, so he went with that. "Um…yes." She had bags of her own, apparently from every woman's store in the mall. It seemed safe to point out this commonality. "You too, I see."

"Just updating my wardrobe," Sara said. "A whore's look needs to change with the seasons, after all."

Grissom winced, and hoped she didn't notice. How had he managed to screw things up between them so badly? This was beyond their usual misunderstandings over hamburger meat or wife-swapping. Somehow, in his attempts to treat her like he treated everyone else, he'd gone too far, and this was the result. A wounded Sara, defending herself with sarcasm.

He had to fix this. It would require opening the heavily reinforced wall he'd built around himself. But she was worth the effort.

"Sara, I apologize if I insinuated or came anywhere near to calling you…that. I certainly didn't mean it, because I would never think it."

She sized him up for a second, before her expression relaxed. "I'll accept your apology. If you'll tell me what's in the bag."

"Oh…um…" Surely Sara wouldn't want to stand around and talk about Harry. He shook his head. "It's nothing."

He knew he made a wrong assumption the second her brow flattened. "I see. You bought nothing." She sighed and nodded at the same time. "All right. Well, I'm glad we could clear up our misunderstanding about my status as a woman of loose morals. I'll see you tomorrow night."

While one side of him screamed at him to stop her before she gathered all of her bags and left, the other half warned him to stay quiet. Letting her in too far, revealing too much about his private life would only end up hurting her even more.

The woman was driving him crazy. And she had no clue. "It's food," he said in a rush. "For my iguana."

Sara frowned, but she stopped picking up packages. "You have an iguana? How long have you had an iguana?"

Had he really never mentioned Harry to her? He had a vague memory of her knowing about the kimodo dragon he'd tried to order. But since then…no, they hadn't spoken about animals. "A few years. It turns out you can't actually own a kimodo dragon in a residential neighborhood. Harry is the next best thing."

"Harry? You have an iguana…and his name is Harry?"

Grissom nodded. What…was it hard to believe? As if to verify it, the details just started pouring out. "He…um…well, he seems to think he should be mating right now. Unfortunately, I have no intentions of breeding iguanas. So, Harry's been a little testy."

Sara pursed her lips, trying to hide the fact that she was smiling. He had made her smile! "I suppose that's natural."

Suddenly talking seemed almost easy. "The pet store has a special mix of food that he likes. I thought it might help ease his…frustration. Or at least distract him from trying to hump my hand when I go to feed him."

When he thought he would lose his hearing forever, there were only a handful of sounds that he couldn't bear the idea of never hearing again: the smack of a bat against a ball in a final inning home run, the melodic purr of a grasshopper's legs, Maria Callas singing _Carmen_, and Sara's laugh.

He tried to be indignant on his iguana's behalf. "I can't believe you find Harry's pain amusing."

She was holding her sides. "Grissom. Your pet iguana is horny. In what universe is that not amusing?"

"I suppose I can see that." Harry had made Sara laugh. He could hump Grissom's hand all he wanted.

Grissom was so caught up in the moment that it took him a second to realize she'd stopped. Looking him straight in the eye, Sara shook head. "I have to go."

Something happened right then. An epiphany that was as overwhelming as it was enlightening.

He loved this woman. He loved everything about her. And there was no use denying it or hiding from it or hoping it would go away anymore.

His very tidy life was about to get terrifically complicated.

* * *

Sara arrived back at her apartment, and without even taking the time to hang up her new clothes, she went online and began reading up on iguanas, specifically males in mating season. Within twenty minutes, she found the answer to Grissom's problem.

She had to go out shopping again, but it didn't take long to gather everything she needed. She went back home to assemble her supplies. As she worked, she wondered…was it wrong to use a sexually frustrated iguana as a means to have contact outside of work with the man she unrequitedly loved?

If it was, oh well.

* * *

Grissom arrived back his townhouse, and went straight into the guest bedroom where Harry lived in his heated terrain. As he approached, Harry growled at him.

"I know, pal," he tried to soothe his pet. "I've been there." He took the lid off and reached into the bag from the pet store. "Hell, I'm there now. So you have my complete and total sympathy." He dropped a handful of the food mix into Harry's bowl and quickly withdrew his hand before the iguana got any ideas. "Hope that helps." He put the lid back on. Harry tentatively crept over to the bowl. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go do something about my problem."

There really was only one person to call, although he sort of wished he had another option. Catherine would help him, but she wasn't above making him pay for her assistance, not so much in terms of money, but in mockery and subtle torture. She was a master at both.

It would be worth it, he told himself. Sara was worth it.

To her credit, when he told Catherine that he needed help with Sara, she didn't immediately come back with any snappy remarks or badly-veiled innuendo. But he could actually feel her smirk of supreme satisfaction through the phone.

"So," she began after a moment to absorb everything he'd just said. "Let me get this straight. You want me to help you figure out a way to tell Sara that you like her." Catherine snorted softly. "Okay. But only if you'll do my chemistry homework so I don't have to miss the big game on Friday."

"Don't think I don't recognize the adolescent nature of my request. I'm fifty years old and I need help with a girl. I accept your ridicule."

Catherine sighed dramatically. "You just took all the fun out of it." She paused. "Just answer one question. Why now? Why not two years ago? Or six years ago?"

"What can I say? I lifted my head out of my microscope. I just hope I'm not too late."

"Okay." She was smiling; you could always tell with Catherine. Her voice was happy. "Now I can work with you. I'll be at your place in five. Open a bottle of wine. This could take awhile."

* * *

Their bottle of wine turned into Indian take-out and beer. It always amazed him how comfortable Catherine could make herself anywhere she happened to be. She kicked off her shoes within minutes of her arrival, and by the time they were working their way through curried chicken and garlic naan, she was lounging on his sofa like the Queen of Sheba.

"The thing about Sara is this," she said between bites. "I don't think she's ever had anyone in her life teach her about girl stuff. Not like tampons and yeast infections girl stuff…"

Grissom moved the beer away from her. She didn't need any more.

"I mean, like, make-up and twirly dresses girl stuff," Catherine continued. "She's just clueless about all of it. You know she didn't even go to her senior prom? Yeah, really. She went to Harvard early instead."

He declined to point out that Sara's education had served her far better than a corsage pressed between the pages of her yearbook.

"She really is pretty. It's sort of a strange pretty. But it's there." Catherine lowered her fork. "Well, I don't have to tell you, right?"

Grissom was about to answer when the doorbell rang. Excusing himself, he went to answer it.

"Sara." He could not have been more surprised to see the woman standing on his stoop than if she'd shown up naked. "What are you doing here?"

She pushed her sunglasses up into her hair. "I felt bad. About laughing at poor Harry. So I did a little research online and I think I found something that might help him." There was an awkward pause. "Can I come in?"

He side-stepped her request, highly cognizant of the woman sprawled on his couch eating curry like she lived there. "What is it?"

"Um…" She hesitated before reaching into her bag. She pulled out a rolled up log of bright green cloth. "I thought this might last longer than something inflatable."

Grissom took it with a look of wonder. "You made Harry a girlfriend."

"The website said it can help relieve stress. And spare your hand from being attacked." Sara sniffed the air. "Do I smell curry?"

"Gil." He closed his eyes as Catherine called out, "Who is it? Your chicken's getting cold!"

When he opened them again, Sara was staring at him, an unreadable expression on her face. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to intrude." She moved down a step, away from the door. Away from him. "Let me know if Harry likes Hermione. That's what I named her. After…um…the books. You know? Not that Harry ends up with Hermione. Although maybe he does. I haven't actually read the books. Just caught the movies on TV." She stopped for a breath. "So, I'll see you at work."

"Sara…" he started. But it was too late. She was already halfway to her car.

Catherine came up behind him just as Sara started her engine and backed out of the driveway as fast as she could.

"If I'm going to tell you the hundreds of different ways you could have better handled all of that, we're going to need more beer."

* * *

To Be Continued 


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: Characters contained within do not belong to me. 

Author's Notes: Thanks so much to everyone for all the wonderful feedback on the last few chapters. I love that there are so many closet Harry/Hermione fans out there;) Enjoy the new chapter!

* * *

Beauty and the Beholder 

by Kristen Elizabeth

* * *

_The possibilities are numerous once we decide to act and not react. -- George Bernard Shaw_

* * *

"Sara." 

He was surprised to see her at his door. She couldn't blame him; she was a little surprised that she'd made it as far as she had without chickening out. "What are you doing here?"

Nervously, she pushed her sunglasses up into her hair. "I felt bad. About laughing at poor Harry. So I did a little research online and I think I found something that might help him." There was a second of strained silence. "Can I come in?"

Instead of inviting her in, Grissom asked, "What is it?"

"Um…" The lack of an invitation caught her off-guard, although it probably shouldn't have. This was Grissom, after all. Concentrating on the reason she'd come, Sara pulled Hermione out of her bag. "I thought this might last longer than something inflatable."

"You made Harry a girlfriend." The look on the face she loved so much was entirely unfamiliar. She couldn't decipher it. He wasn't frowning, but he wasn't smiling either. He looked…confused.

"The website said it can help relieve stress. And spare your hand from being attacked," she quickly clarified. Just then, Sara caught a whiff of something delicious. "Do I smell curry?"

"Gil. Who is it? Your chicken's getting cold!"

Of all the scenarios that had played in her head on the drive over, not once had it occurred to her that he might not be spending his day off alone.

Grissom closed his eyes, like a man caught enflagrante. Sara tasted metal as she bit down on the inside of her cheek. There was absolutely no reason to get upset. He was her boss, and occasionally, when the mood was right, her friend. He deserved a life as much, if not more than she did.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to intrude." She started down the steps, hoping that in her haste she wouldn't trip, fall, and crack open her skull. "Let me know if Harry likes Hermione. That's what I named her. After…um…the books. You know? Not that Harry ends up with Hermione. Although maybe he does. I haven't actually read the books. Just caught the movies on TV." She sucked in a lungful of air. Grissom was staring at her blankly. If he even knew who Harry Potter was, she'd wash a whole load of Greg's socks. "So, I'll see you at work."

Mortified beyond the telling of it, Sara made a hasty escape to her car. She didn't hear anything except the roar of the engine. As she sped off, she thought she caught a glimpse of a blonde standing next to him in the doorway.

They did seem to be his preference.

* * *

Due to the fact that turning to Catherine for help had only succeeded in driving another wedge between him and Sara, Grissom spent the next few days in relative seclusion as he pondered his next move. 

He was so far into his head that when Sara appeared his office a week later, he barely acknowledged her presence. She asked about Harry, and he rotely replied that Hermione had done wonders for his pet. But it wasn't until she cleared her throat and quietly stated, "I need to take some vacation time," that he really paid attention to the conversation.

Grissom removed his reading glasses and sat back in his chair. It afforded him a few seconds to process her request. But before he could think of any response, Sara rushed on.

It was the story of their relationship.

"It's just a week. I'm not asking for a leave of absence or anything. I'm not going anywhere." He had to admit, he felt instantly better upon hearing that. She continued, "I know it's sudden, but I'd like to start my time off tomorrow."

At this, Grissom frowned. "That is sudden." He paused. "May I ask why?"

"Just personal reasons." Sara's smile was rueful. "It's not because you have a new…friend. I'm happy for you, Grissom. I really am."

"Sara…" He shook his head. "The other day…"

She held up her hand. "Being happy for you is one thing. Hearing the details is another."

His brow furred again. He loved the woman, but sometimes he wished she would just let him finish a damn sentence. "It was Catherine," he blurted out, startling her a bit, judging from the way she blinked. "It was just Catherine."

"Oh." Sara wore embarrassment like a heavy blanket; her chin dipped down and she suddenly became very interested in her shoes. "I thought you were…"

"No. I'm not."

She lifted her head just enough to meet his eyes. "Why not?"

It was his turn to blink. "What?"

"Why aren't you seeing anyone, Grissom? You're a catch. So why haven't you let someone catch you?"

What could he say? He was caught, had been for years. And she held the net.

He cleared his throat. "You can start your vacation time tomorrow. Nick's been bucking for overtime; he can cover for you."

Sara nodded slowly. "Thanks."

She was almost out the door before he called out to her. "Sara!" Turning, she looked back at him. "You'd really be happy for me if I was involved with someone else?"

The corners of her lips lifted. "No. But I'd fake it so well you'd never know the difference." She left, closing the door behind her.

Grissom sat alone in his quiet sanctuary for a long time afterwards. It was somewhere in the silence that he remembered something Catherine had said the other day.

A plan began to form.

* * *

"Hey, are you busy?" 

Sara looked up from her paperwork, the final stack she had to get through before her vacation. She was surprised at how much she was looking forward to having the time off. There were several projects she'd wanted to undertake for several months, including rearranging her furniture and possibly painting the walls another color. She hadn't quite made up her mind between royal blue and olive green, but she was ready for something different.

She needed something in her life to change.

Catherine entered the room without waiting for an answer. "I hear you're out of here for a week."

"You hear right." Sara shuffled some papers. Even though she'd been relieved that it was only Catherine having dinner with Grissom the day she'd stopped by, it still hurt a little that the older woman enjoyed such a comfortable relationship with him. And it didn't even seem like she had to try for it. If Sara had been pressed to give a name to what she was feeling, it would have been jealousy. "Is there something you need?"

Catherine perched on the edge of the layout table, facing her. She folded her arms over her expensive blouse. "Gil wasn't having curry with some cheap floozy the other day. It was just me." Sara opened her mouth, but she was cut off. "Resist the temptation to be a smart ass. I'm just telling you that you don't need to run and hide from anything."

She sighed. You threatened to quit one time, and from then on people assumed that every vacation day you took had to have some deeper meaning behind it. "I know it was you. Grissom told me."

"Oh." Catherine's expression was one of genuine surprise. "That's so unlike Gil to actually say the right thing."

"It was a shocker for me, too." Sara shook her head. "I'm just taking a few personal days to do some spring cleaning. It has nothing to do with…anything else."

"You're sure?"

Her skeptical look irritated Sara to no end. "Catherine, what do you want from me?"

"I want you to give Gil a break. He might be brilliant and intuitive in his lab, but out in the real world, he's just as clueless as the rest of the male population. But…he's trying, Sara. He really is. He probably won't get it right on his first attempt, though." She paused. "Or his second. Possibly even his third."

Sara swallowed back a lump that settled in her throat. "I never asked for perfection."

"But don't you get that perfection is what he wants to give you?" Catherine stood up. "Just give him a margin for error." She started for the door before she thought of something else. "Oh, and never tell him we had this conversation. Enjoy your vacation." With a flip of blonde hair, she was gone.

Alone again, Sara tried to focus on her work, but it was impossible. Catherine had all but come out and admitted that Grissom was actually planning to do something about their ambiguous relationship. It was too much to hope that it might be true.

But hope was something she hadn't felt for a very long time. It warmed her from the inside out. She left work with a smile that she didn't even try to hide.

* * *

Even after the conversation with Catherine that she was supposed to pretend had never taken place, Sara wasn't at all prepared for the knock on her door that came two days later. Only one wall of her apartment was completely finished. The scent of primer was pungent. Everything she owned was draped with plastic. And she was spattered from head to toe in what the paint company called "merlot mauve." It was a gorgeous color, but her hair was stiff with it, her face was freckled with it, and her bare arms were streaked with it. 

So, of course, it was Grissom at the door.

To his credit, he didn't seem taken aback by her appearance. "I'm sorry I didn't call ahead," he apologized.

Sara wiped at her cheek, only succeeding in smearing paint further. She really wanted to be annoyed with him, but Catherine's request replayed in her mind. "It's all right. I'd invite you in, but I don't want you to ruin your clothes."

"Actually, I can't stay." Grissom reached into his coat pocket. "I just wanted to give you this."

Sara took the cream-colored envelope from him with a puzzled frown. "What is it?"

"I'd like you to wait to open it until tomorrow night." He tugged at his ear, his "tell" for when he was nervous about something. Even without knowing what was inside the mysterious letter, Sara's heart melted a bit. "It's a surprise."

Her lips pursed in a reluctant smile. "Will I like it?"

"I hope so, Sara." Grissom slipped his hands into his pockets. "I can't think of a lot of reasons for you to trust me, but if you can just do what it says…"

"Grissom." She shook her head. "Trust…it's never been an issue on my part."

"I know, honey." Clearing his throat, Grissom bobbed his head. "Tomorrow night, then?"

"Tomorrow night," she echoed.

She closed the door a few seconds later, and turned around, pressing her back against the cool wood. Looking up at the ceiling, she counted to ten slowly, fighting the crazed impulse to rip into the envelope.

In the end, Sara tucked it under her mattress and went back to her painting. It was out of sight…but definitely not out of mind.

* * *

To Be Continued 


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: Characters contained within do not belong to me. 

Author's Notes: Thanks to everyone out there who can't wait to find out what was in the envelope;) Your reviews make me smile.

* * *

Beauty and the Beholder 

by Kristen Elizabeth

* * *

_Surprise is the greatest gift which life can grant us. – Boris Pasternak_

* * *

When she pulled the door open and the paint fumes hit him full on, Grissom could have kicked himself. She really had just taken a few days off. To redecorate. 

"I'm sorry I didn't call ahead," he apologized.

Sara rubbed the back of her hand over her cheek. It was probably the most endearing thing he'd ever seen in his life, because it did little more than smear the paint across her face. And she probably had no clue. "It's all right. I'd invite you in, but I don't want you to ruin your clothes."

And he would have taken up the invitation. Clothes were replaceable. "Actually, I can't stay." He reached into his coat. "I just wanted to give you this."

She turned the envelope over in her hands with the look of curiosity that he so adored about her. "What is it?"

"I'd like you to wait to open it until tomorrow night." He unconsciously pulled at his earlobe. "It's a surprise." One he'd been working on for two straight days.

"Will I like it?"

"I hope so, Sara." If she didn't, he would be lost. Before he could pull at his ear again, something she probably found weird, Grissom dug his hands into his pockets. "I can't think of a lot of reasons for you to trust me, but if you can just do what it says…"

"Grissom." She shook her head. "Trust…it's never been an issue on my part."

That one hit him straight in the heart. "I know, honey." Clearing his throat, Grissom bobbed his head. He was afraid to say anything else, in case he said something wrong. And blew everything. "Tomorrow night, then?"

"Tomorrow night," she echoed.

He smiled all the way to his car.

* * *

Sara slept on the couch that night. She just couldn't bear to sleep on top of the letter she couldn't open for another twelve hours. But she couldn't move it because she was fairly certain there was no way she wouldn't end up opening it. 

She woke up with a stiff neck, but she was quite proud of herself and her willpower.

Greg called her around lunch time, and it was a welcome distraction from the paint and the fact that there were only six more hours to go.

"Hey, Sara. You feel like catching a late matinee?"

"Sorry." Smiling as widely as she was actually stretched muscles she hadn't used in a long time. "I sort of have plans tonight."

"Really?"

"Please remove the utter disbelief from your tone, Greg."

"Sorry. Yay! Good for you!" Sara had to laugh at his efforts. Or maybe she was just in too good of a mood to let anything bother her. "Anyone I know?"

"Maybe…"

"Does his name rhyme with 'Issom'?"

Sara sat down on the plastic covered couch. "Would you think I'm acting rashly and maybe even unprofessionally if I said yes?"

"If it were anyone else dating the boss, maybe I'd think that. But you…no way." He paused. "You love him, don't you?" When she didn't reply, Greg went on. "It's okay. You should probably tell him before you tell me." He laughed weakly. "Although I wouldn't mind hearing it. You know…'cause we're friends and we should be able to be honest with each other. Not that you'd be saying it to me like actually **_to_** me, but…"

"Greg." She gently nudged him out of his ramblings. "We'll catch that movie another time. I'll even spring for the popcorn."

"Okay. Oh, and Sara," he said before she could hang up. "I hope you have a really great time."

"Thanks." He hung up and she lowered the phone from her ear. "So do I."

* * *

The sun set at 6:05 p.m. At 6:06, Sara grabbed the letter opener from her desk. 

She sat down on the edge of her bed and began to read the single page, not even half filled with Grissom's handwriting.

_Dear Sara,_

_Eight p.m. The Bellagio. Formal dress. When you arrive, tell the concierge your name._

_Trust me, Sara, and we'll have the time of our lives._

_Yours, Gil_

She read the words over and over again, searching for any hidden clues, but she came up blank. Whatever Grissom had planned, he wasn't going to reveal anything until he was damn well ready.

Her head jerked up and she looked at the clock.

"Fuck!"

* * *

Halfway through her shower, as she scrubbed every possible trace of paint from her body, Sara realized something. Grissom's extremely vague invitation had very few stipulations, but formal dress was one of them. 

"Oh shit," she cursed again, her voice bouncing off the tiled walls. "Shit, shit, shit!"

Without even bothering to dry off all the way, Sara went straight to her phone after emerging from the bathroom and frantically dialed.

"Pick up, pick up, pick up," she muttered until, finally, the person on the other end did.

"Hello?"

"Grissom wants me to meet him at the Bellagio in ninety minutes wearing something formal and I have absolutely nothing and no time to go shopping, what should I do?!"

On the other end, Catherine sighed wearily. "Oh my god, Sara. How do you and Gil even manage to walk upright without my help?"

Her panic was on the rise. "Cath, please. Please. This might be the only night with Grissom that I ever get. It has to be perfect."

There was silence for a second. "You have a dress, Sara."

She blinked. "No. I can't."

"Yes, you can."

"I can't."

"You can," Catherine insisted. "And don't say you can't again. I feel like I'm arguing with Lindsey when she was five."

Sara put her hand to her forehead. "Catherine, this Grissom we're talking about. He didn't like me in a leather skirt. How the hell is he going to react to a neckline that touches my stomach?"

"Positively, if he knows what's good for him," Catherine replied. "And just so you know, you're right. Grissom didn't like you in that skirt."

"I know," Sara said, her voice hoarse with hurt. "I don't need it hammered into my..."

"He had to walk around with a clipboard in front of his pants for the rest of the day after seeing you in it." She could almost feel Catherine's evil grin from across town. "Eighty-eight minutes left. What's it going to be? A little bare skin, or another night with your police scanner?"

Sara's head literally spun. "It's just happening so fast. I'm afraid I'll blink and realize I've daydreamed the whole thing."

"Well, all I can say is…expect the unexpected."

"Do you know something about all of this?" Sara's eyes widened when she got no response. "You do!"

"Quit being paranoid. Go into your closet, dust off that jaw-dropping number you should have worn years ago, and get your ass to the Bellagio. You asked for my help; I've given it to you. Goodnight." The next thing Sara heard was the dial tone.

She put the phone down with great reluctance, like it was her last lifeline. Standing on shaky knees, Sara walked to her closet and pushed back hangers until she reached the dress. She pulled it out and held it up to the light for a minute, before drawing it to her chest.

All she could do was hope Grissom was a breast man.

* * *

Having used the time she would have spent searching for a parking space on the Strip doing her hair and makeup, Sara took a cab to the hotel. As soon as she stepped foot out of the car, she could feel people staring at her. 

In the years the dress had hung in the back of the closet, either she'd shrunk or the neckline had sagged because it felt a lot lower than she what she remembered from trying it on at the store. At least it covered everything that needed to be covered. She was just glad she'd started adding a few extra sit-ups to her irregular workout schedule.

Sara squared her bare shoulders and shook back her carefully constructed curls as she entered the lavish lobby.

The concierge was waiting for her. And true to Grissom's letter, as soon as she told the man her name, his eyes lit up with recognition. "Of course, Ms. Sidle. Right this way."

A few years earlier, she and Nick had worked a B&E at the Bellagio; she still remembered the main layout of the hotel ballrooms, at least enough to know that was where she was being led. The concierge stopped in front of the smallest of the rooms.

"Mr. Grissom is waiting inside." He bowed. "Enjoy your evening."

Sara counted to ten after the man left before she put her hand on the cool doorknob. Taking deep, slow breaths, she pushed the door open.

The first thing she noticed as she stepped inside was the disco ball. Save for the sparkling, rotating lights it gave off, the room was dark. Sara frowned. Maybe she'd been led to the wrong room. She wasn't sure what she'd been expecting Grissom's surprise to be, but a disco ball definitely hadn't figured into it.

Just as she was about to turn around and track down the concierge, the lights came up. She could see a wooden dance floor, framed on all sides by a couple of decorated tables. But what caught her attention was the banner stretched across the wall directly in front of her.

She read the words out loud. "The Time of Our Lives. Senior Prom…1989."

Before she could even begin to process any of what she was seeing, Grissom stepped out of the shadows, clad in a well-cut tuxedo and holding a plastic box. "Hi," he said softly.

"Hi," she whispered.

Their eyes met for a long moment. "Gris," she finally said. "What...?"

"Did you know that your alma mater keeps a record of past prom themes? It only took a few phone calls to figure out what it was for your class."

She was reeling even more now. "How?"

"The Bellagio had a last-minute cancellation. They did most of the work setting everything up. Although Catherine says Lindsey had a lot of fun making the banner."

"So, she did know something." Sara shook her head. "That bitch." She paused. "I owe her one."

Grissom reached out and brushed a curl back from her face. "I never went to my prom either. The girl I liked had a very muscular boyfriend. So I stayed home and dissected a cat I found in the road." When she had no reaction to that, he chuckled. "I love that hearing that about me doesn't shock or repulse you."

"How did you know that I didn't…" She stopped short as she realized the answer before she even finished the question.

"Catherine," they both said together.

Smiling now, she looked up at the disco ball to hold back a few stray tears. "I don't know what to say."

Grissom lifted the lid from the box. An orchid corsage with a navy blue ribbon that matched her dress perfectly was nestled inside. He took her hand and slid it onto her wrist.

"Say you'll go to the prom with me, Sara"

Her heart fluttered like she was really was seventeen again. "I'd love to."

* * *

To Be Continued 


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: Characters contained within do not belong to me. 

Author's Notes: To follow.

* * *

Beauty and the Beholder 

by Kristen Elizabeth

* * *

_For every beauty there is an eye somewhere to see it. For every love there is a heart somewhere to receive it. – Ivan Panin_

* * *

He told himself he was waiting for the perfect moment to step out of the shadows. But if he was really telling the truth, he was just enjoying looking at Sara as she entered the ballroom. 

And if he was going to be painfully honest, he needed a moment to collect himself. Her dress...was she trying to give him a heart attack? The stubbornly analytical parts of his brain were busy trying to figure out how the hell the straps were staying put on her shoulders. The rest of his brain was just hoping they'd slip.

He took a breath and stepped forward. "Hi," he said quietly, as not to startle her too badly.

"Hi." Her voice was as soft as his.

His throat closed up. The speech he had been rehearsing all day flew out of his mind. She was close enough now that he could smell her perfume. Sara never wore it at work, and suddenly he was very grateful for that fact. He would never get any work done if she did.

"Gris," she finally said. "What...?"

"Did you know that your alma mater keeps a record of past prom themes?" he blurted out, needing to say something before he just grabbed her and kissed her. "It only took a few phone calls to figure out what it was for your class."

She looked confused. "How?" And she wasn't able to form full sentences for some reason. He wasn't sure if that was a good sign or not.

"The Bellagio had a last-minute cancellation. They did most of the work setting everything up. Although Catherine says Lindsey had a lot of fun making the banner."

"So, she did know something." Sara shook her head. "That bitch." She paused just long enough to worry him even more. Did she hate this? Was it too sappy and sentimental? Or worse? "I owe her one," she finally said.

Relief rushed through him. It was powerful enough to propel him to reach out and brush a silky curl back from her face. "I never went to my prom either. The girl I liked had a very muscular boyfriend. So I stayed home and dissected a cat I found in the road." He braced himself for a reaction, like her nose curling up in disgust or eyes rolling like she was just now realizing what a social idiot he was. But there was none of that. She was just watching him like she always did. Like she wanted to know everything about him. The good, the bad, and the embarrassing. "I love that hearing that about me doesn't shock or repulse you."

"How did you know that I didn't…" She stopped because she didn't really need to think very hard about who could have relayed the information about her senior prom.

"Catherine," they both said together.

She was smiling, and that made his shoulders relax. "I don't know what to say."

He hoped his hands were steady as he lifted the lid from the box. He'd spent a full hour at the florist's picking it out. He owed Catherine one as well for telling him the color of the dress Sara would be wearing that night. But he would have words with her later for not preparing him about the dress's design.

Grissom took her hand and slipped the orchid corsage onto her slender wrist. "Say you'll go to the prom with me, Sara."

He couldn't hold back a grin when she replied, "I'd love to."

Sara's eyes stayed him on as he walked over to the CD player the Bellagio had thoughtfully provided. The CD had come from Catherine's collection. Maybe he'd mention the fact that she owned it to Greg, as punishment for not giving him a heads up to the fact that the front of Sara's dress was cut down her navel.

Having already preset the machine to the right track, Grissom turned it on. Music filled the silent ballroom.

It only took Sara a few bars before she recognized the song. "Is this…?"

"It was in the top ten on the Billboard Chart in 1989. There's no way they didn't play this at your prom." Grissom walked back to her. "I have wanted to dance with you for years, Sara."

Her head shook a bit. "No, you haven't."

"Yes, I have." Perhaps they really had time-warped back to high school. "I have, Sara."

"Then…why haven't you until now?" She shook her head. "Up until tonight, you've done everything in your power to convince me that you were completely uninterested in me. I can't go in anymore circles, Gris. I just…I can't!"

Grissom slipped his hand under her arm to grasp her waist. "Dance with me. And I promise…no more circles." He frowned as he realized something. "Except…you know…around the dance floor."

She rolled her eyes a little at this, but it was justified. When she put her hand on his shoulder and entwined the fingers of her other hand with his, he really did feel seventeen again.

_Oceans apart, day after day _

_And I slowly go insane_

"Gris?"

He would have given anything to run his lips over the soft, fragrant flesh where her shoulder met her neck. It was right there in front of him, and he'd never known a more powerful temptation. "Yes?"

"Is all of this happening because of the magazine article?" Drawing back a bit, he saw genuine worry in the bottomless chocolate depths of her eyes. Before he could answer, she rushed on. "You hated it, didn't you?"

"Certain aspects, yes," Grissom admitted, unable to lie to her.

"Like my outfit."

"Yes, I hated your outfit." Her expression clouded over, and he clarified. "Because of the adolescent reaction my body had to it."

Sara blinked several times. "You had better not be joking about that."

"No joke." He looked down at the inside curves of her breasts, even more noticeable now that her chest was pressed against his. "I hate this dress, too, by the way."

Her cheeks grew pink. "I never should have bought it. It belongs on a real model. Not me."

Grissom stared at her. "My god, you really have no idea how beautiful you are, do you?"

_Oh, can't you see it baby?_

_  
You've got me going crazy_

"That photo shoot…" he went on. "I wanted to clear the room and christen Bobby's workstation with you in a very unholy way."

She tried to pull away, but Grissom held her tighter even as she shook her head. "It was the makeup and the leather," she said, desperately. "It's designed to trick your eyes."

"No. It only enhanced what was already there." He untangled their fingers and tipped her chin up to meet his gaze. "You're always beautiful, Sara. It doesn't matter what you're wearing or how much sleep you've had or whether or not you put lipstick on that day. Every time I see you, I want to see more of you." Grissom gently touched his lips to hers. "That's what happens when you love someone."

_Wherever you go, whatever you do _

_I will be right here waiting for you_

Sara's hand traveled up from his shoulder and pulled his head down for another, deeper kiss. "You gave me a prom," she said when their mouths parted. "What could I possibly give you that could compare?"

He thought for a second. "A private viewing of the leather skirt?" She threw her head back and laughed. "Harry would enjoy it, too."

"I'm sure he would." Sara kissed him again, wrapping her arms around his neck at the same time he enfolded her in his. "Thank you," she whispered between kisses. "I can never see enough of you, either."

The spot he'd wanted to kiss earlier was even softer than he'd imagined. And she whimpered when he breathed on it. He was suddenly glad he'd been presumptuous and rented a room upstairs.

_I wonder how we can survive this romance _

_But in the end if I'm with you, I'll take the chance_

Waiting thirty years for your senior prom had some distinct advantages.

* * *

"Black, two sugars." 

Grissom presented the mug of coffee to her with such pride that Sara couldn't bear to tell him that the lab sludge called for three sugars. He would either figure it out eventually, or she'd come up with a way to sneak an extra packet without him ever noticing. She wouldn't be responsible for chasing his smile away.

"I take two creams and a sugar," Nick said as he entered and caught sight of Grissom handing Sara her coffee. "Are you our barista tonight, Gris?"

She took a sip, using the mug to hide her smirk at the pointed look Grissom gave their co-worker. "You're early." It was only a complaint to Sara's knowing ears. They'd both been hoping for another ten minutes alone before the shift started.

"No traffic," Nick explained, storing his lunch in the fridge. As he straightened up, he looked at Sara with a puzzled frown. "Were you wearing that shirt last night?"

Refusing to look at Grissom in case she lost her composure, Sara coolly replied, "It's a white shirt, Nick. I own more than one."

She made a mental note for the future: sharing a shower was fun, but going home for a change of clothes was a better use of time.

Warrick arrived next and immediately headed for the coffee pot. After a couple of sips, he was ready to talk. "No traffic."

"So we've been told," Sara said.

"Didn't you have that shirt on yesterday?" he asked, giving her a quick once-over. Sara glared at him. "Just asking."

Greg breezed in just then. "Evenin' all," he greeted them. "I've come to save you from the leftover swing shift brew." As he passed Sara, he paused. "Hey, isn't that same shirt you…"

"What the hell?" Sara wasn't sure whether to laugh or panic. "Did you three join the Fashion Police?"

"Fashion?" Catherine walked into the room, one hand hidden behind her. "You already heard, then?"

"Heard what?" Grissom asked for the group. He moved behind Sara's chair, and even though he couldn't offer her his hand, having him close was enough to calm her down.

"Ta-da!" She brought a magazine out from behind her back and laid it down on the table. "An advanced copy. Arrived this afternoon." She looked at Sara. "You're on page 32."

Sara took a big sip of coffee, ignoring the bitterness. "You've already looked?" Catherine nodded. "On a scale of one to ten, how bad is it?"

"Judge for yourself." Catherine began flipping pages. When she reached the one she wanted, she stepped back. "Gentlemen…" She put one hand on Nick's arm and the other on Warrick's. "From a lump of clay…look what Prada hath wrought."

Greg snatched up the magazine. "Damn!!" He looked at Sara with wide eyes. "So it's you bringing sexy back!"

Nick grabbed it from him. "I just want to go on record as thanking the Lord for making leather," he said a moment later. "I completely renounce lace."

"The camera loved you, Sara," Warrick told her after examining the photo.

With a sigh, Catherine took the magazine and handed it to the woman in question. She lowered her voice so only Sara could hear her say, "You should be really proud of yourself." She winked. "I am."

It was hard for Sara to believe that the woman on the glossy page was actually her. She could remember the feel of the leather skirt on her thighs, and the way she felt powerful in the boots, like she could knock men over with a single sway of her hips. The picture was everything Catherine had said it would be. Sexy, yes. But smart, too.

She glanced up and locked eyes with Grissom.

"May I?" he asked. He took it and adjusted his glasses to read the blurb that ran down the side of the page. "Sara Sidle, a level three crime scene investigator for the Las Vegas Police Department, holds a master's degree in theoretical physics from Berkeley. Even after eight years in the field, her dedication to justice shows no sign of dissipating. In her own words, 'My job is to speak for the victim'."

"I borrowed that," Sara confessed. She hesitated. "What do you think, Gris?"

"I think…" He removed his glasses. "I still hate the outfit."

Sara didn't blame Catherine for smacking Grissom's arm, or Warrick for rolling his eyes, or Nick and Greg for coming to her defense as loudly as possible.

But she couldn't stop smiling.

* * *

Fin 

A/N: Hopefully I didn't put anyone into a diabetic coma with this one. If you're reading this, thank you so much for sticking with me through the long months it took to complete this story. Big, big thank you's also go out to PhDelicious, who cracks her ruler and keeps me in line. Take care until next time!


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